


journey (of a lifetime)

by bison_daycare



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Custom MC, F/M, but primarily focused on V, delves into blue boy and his mind, featuring a very vague sex dream, follows V's route, her name is kade and she's lovely, seriously i love this man so much he is very important to me, v-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bison_daycare/pseuds/bison_daycare
Summary: V stumbles across an aging bookstore, old enough to warrant an update, but the chipped paint and faded sign gives the place a sort of charm that’s hard to find in the city.He sees the beauty in it - the way the dimming wood plays against the bright fauna of a flower box decorating the window, how the green letters of the store name are vivid against the heavy sea of people passing by. And though his vision is fading by the day he can still see well enough to appreciate the view.He has always been hopelessly fascinated by contradictions.--V-centric exploration of his route, and before.
Relationships: V | Kim Jihyun & Main Character, V | Kim Jihyun/Main Character, V | Kim Jihyun/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	journey (of a lifetime)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story very close to my heart. I adore V, even before his route was released he was the Chosen One™️. I initially wrote this last summer for V week, but never got around to posting it. V is such a fascinating character and delving into his character is something I have deeply enjoyed! 
> 
> This story features my custom mc, Kade. She's a total sweetheart. Please love her as much as I do! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I already have a sequel of sorts when V returns written, fluffy as can be. If there is interest, I will definitely post!

Jihyun doesn’t remember his mother. 

It’s strange, thinking about it now. The other children are being collected from school, expensive cars all in a row and smartly dressed individuals holding out welcoming arms as his classmates enthusiastically run into them. 

He doesn’t understand it; why all of the other children are greeted with a hug and kiss and something  _ else  _ floating in their parent’s body language. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows his father doesn’t have it. His eyes are too cold to display what the other parents seamlessly show - too sensible to waste time on such excessive displays of affection. 

_ Chief Kim’s  _ assistant is there, waiting, stoic as always. She offers a nod, opening the door without so much as a word, taking his heavy backpack and placing it on the seat on his behalf. Obligatory. 

There’s a shock of mint-hued hair, so very similar to his own, in the corner of his eye. It gives him the briefest moment of pause, and even his young mind is acutely aware of the situation, what the revelation alludes to. 

Jihyun knows _ she’s _ there, knows she’s watching. He knows his father looks at her as if she is beneath him, as if she is some vagrant leeching off the fringes of their existence. His mother, always observing, never able to get closer than this to the world he inhabits. 

There has to be a reason, right? His father is nothing if not intentional. He wouldn’t separate them without a good reason, Jihyun rationalizes faithfully, naively. 

So he gets into the car, ignoring the part of him that desperately wants to look at the woman. Look for the ‘ _ something else’  _ all of the other kids seem to receive from their parents. 

The assistant slams the door behind him, cutting him off from the world. It sounds remarkably loud. 

-

V stumbles across an aging bookstore, old enough to warrant an update, but the chipped paint and faded sign give the place a sort of charm that’s hard to find in the city. 

He sees the beauty in it - the way the dimming wood plays against the bright fauna of a flower box decorating the window, how the green letters of the store name are vivid against the heavy sea of people passing by. And though his vision is fading by the day he can still see well enough to appreciate the view. 

He has always been hopelessly fascinated by contradictions. 

It's what prompted him to speak with Rika, all those years ago, when he began this noxious love - initially a curious greeting for an intriguingly beautiful woman transforming into something far beyond his control. 

He had been taken immediately; the way her golden hair fell against lithe shoulders, the way her innocent green eyes stared longingly at his work. How she effortlessly deconstructed his fascination with sun, with light. The air of controlled chaos, so close to falling into the darkness. She had been charmed by his image, but he was enchanted by  _ her _ . 

But he knows, all too well, if you stare at the sun for too long you will soon be rendered sightless by its inferno. 

-

V doubts he will ever forget the first time he met Saeyoung Choi. 

Because he was Saeyoung then, not Luciel, not Agent 707. He had a name, a life of his own, no matter how miserable it may have been for those involved. 

A scrappy fifteen-year-old with something to protect, something to prove. When Rika introduced them, he shied away from V, golden eyes cautious behind wire-framed glasses. They had been broken recently, from the looks of it, a patchwork piece of masking tape the only thing keeping them from falling from his nose bridge. 

Saeyoung inspects him carefully, as if he had reason to believe V would hurt him. Or at least try to. But his eyes are bright, intelligent, and V has no doubt that the kid has the potential to be remarkable. 

Further conversation only bolsters his theory - absorbing everything V tells him like a sponge, keen eyes hungry for any new information. He grapples for every bit of knowledge he can get his hands on, as if he can use it, will need it in the future. 

It takes weeks for the teenager to finally open up to him, comfortable enough to explain his situation - why he flinches every time V reaches out an affectionate hand to set it on his shoulder, or when someone speaks too abruptly, or why he would suddenly retreat inward, deep in thought at the strangest of times. 

Back then, he was nothing like the vibrant boy in the chatroom, or the cool and confident hacker, or the jaded agent with a chip on his shoulder. V can’t always decide if that is good or bad, or simply  _ is _ . 

He had known Saeyoung for six months before he finally met Saeran, one of the few times Saeyoung could sneak the boy out of the house for longer than a few moments. He was frailer than his twin, pale. Clearly wary of the world around him. Simultaneously, he looked at everything with a sense of awe, of wonder. 

How crushing it must be - to live a life of forced isolation. 

Saeyoung hovers, dotingly, worriedly. V knows without a doubt that his brother is the only thing motivating him, the only reason he has come as far as he has. And Saeran relies on him, too - when he falls, or he fails, or he hurts, Saeyoung is there to make sure everything will be okay. 

V remembers hearing rumors of an agency - remarkable, but elusive. They had done a favor for his father when some of his darker dealings threatened to come to light, covering up his tracks and transforming the events into nothing but stardust. 

He wouldn’t wish that on Saeyoung for the world, wouldn’t want to force him into a life of isolation and solitude if there were any other way, wouldn’t want to tear apart the brothers unless there was no other choice. 

Rika assures him that this is for the best, and with the knowledge that Saeran would be their responsibility, Saeyoung agrees. 

When V initially makes contact with the group, informing them of Saeyoung’s boundless potential, he does so with a heavy heart. 

-

_ It’s best they don’t know,  _ he reminds himself.

It’s been too long, V knows, since he has logged in. Nearly two weeks, taking a moment to calculate how much time has slipped away from him. Too much, really. 

He needs to be better about this, about the RFA, but it hurts knowing the truth as they all continue to mourn. 

_ It’s for the best, _ he assures himself stubbornly.  _ It’s safer this way.  _

He’s happy to see they’re all bright, laughing at Jumin’s expense about his recent book. The package is still lying unopened on V’s kitchen counter. He should really read it. Prove at least moderately that he’s not the worst friend in the world. 

Until someone logs in, an unfamiliar name, and like wildfire, he can see the entire group kick into high gear.  _ Kade _ . 

He knows immediately what this means, what this alludes to. Mint Eye is taking action. He spends too much time worrying over who she is, what she wants. And he spends even longer trying to deduce the path of least resistance. 

What would Luciel say, he wonders, if he knew the truth? Or Jumin? How would they handle the predicament? Did he really make the right choice? 

_ It’s best they don’t know,  _ V tells himself, once more. 

But it’s harder to stay away from the messenger when he knows Kade’s there, connecting to the friends he abandoned for the best. It’s harder to stay away when he knows the danger she may face, and though he’s busy stepping around Rika’s web, he can’t stop contemplating how exactly she got there and how all of this could go so  _ wrong wrong wrong.  _

V doesn’t know what to do or what to say to make this right - to make those closest to him not  _ hate  _ him for lying through omission. 

What he does know is that it will break all faith and hurt those closest to him.

But somehow, for  _ some reason he can’t even begin to understand, _ Kade fights for him. She supports him. She sees his point of view, sympathizing with him,  _ defending _ him. Even without the full story, she  _ trusts _ him. 

He wants to tell her he doesn’t deserve it, isn’t worthy of her faith. But he knows she would simply give him an achingly earnest response that makes his heart soften just so, and he won’t have the strength to contradict her. 

He’s good at playing the martyr. He never imagined he’d have to be the hero, too. 

_ It’s for the best. It is.  _

-

_ “What about photography?” _

His best friend’s voice, always one of reason and compromise, comes to mind once more. Trust Jumin to find the one thing he could conceivably follow, could willfully execute without fear. It’s a valid thought, a healthy compromise between what his soul is craving and what he was raised to become.

Not for the first time, V wonders just where he would be without the guidance of his wiser companion.

Photography. Huh. He’s never spent much time thinking about the art form, his mind preoccupied solely by the paintings he would create and share with Mother. And although his hand will sometimes itch, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to pick up a paintbrush since her early death. 

But he can’t…. He can’t do that. He can’t  _ be _ that. And although he can feel her unrest from the grave, he’s too fearful to take the leap and let the work from his soul be viewed by those who only wish to tear it down. Not when it’s so personal to him, to  _ them. _

He’s weak, for now. He hopes that one day he’ll be brave enough to show who he truly wishes to be. 

He knows he’s made the right choice when, weeks later, he’s staring through a viewfinder at an empty field. 

It offers striking clarity to the landscape, seeing the way the trees and the clouds and the light become such a remarkable vision. The still capture of their souls, of their light - it’s more than he anticipated. 

He’s good at it, photography, he finds. His pictures are objectively soulful, transparent. And although it may not be what he had in mind for a career, he’s beginning to feel something akin to satisfaction. 

He comes up with the alias  _ V _ later, when he’s scrolling through his photos, picking out the ones he would be willing to share. 

A new start, as someone he could only hope to become. 

-

He isn’t sure what to expect when he finds her, when he finally opens the door where he knows he’ll see Saeran and Kade and the poison they call an elixir. 

Part of him, a very vocal part that won’t stop  _ screaming _ knows he’s waited too long. He should have never let it get this far. While he was lost in doubt and questions and uncertainty - Who is she? How did she get here? What if she’s with Mint Eye but  _ what if she’s not? _ \- time has rapidly flown away, leaving her subject to more danger than she could possibly fathom.

He can hear the voices from Saeran’s office, his seductive wording, and her doubt-filled responses, and before he has time to think it through he’s knocking, desperate, yelling some half-hearted excuse.

Saeran is furious - Rika keeps him at his most unstable, and that alone makes him hazardous - but V does his best to maneuver that while keeping Kade in his peripheral. 

All he had to do was see her, look at her, to know that his instincts were right. She has  _ nothing _ to do with this, has no intention of causing them harm. He can feel the relief when he interrupts, see the way her shoulders relax moderately. 

V doesn’t know what they promised her, how they got her here, but he doesn’t have time to dwell. Not when she’s telling Saeran to go, check on what’s wrong, encouraging the distraction to the best of her ability. 

But Saeran’s always been clever, and now he’s been conditioned to be wary, as well. 

V lowers his hood, and it feels like he’s moving in slow motion, the calm before the storm. Saeran rages, but he can’t focus on that right now, not when Kade’s eyes widen, and she freezes, shock painting her pretty features paler than usual. 

She asks if he’s real -  _ what a strange thing to say  _ \- before shaking it off. He yells for her to run, to leave, and she starts to move towards him when Saeran grabs her from behind. V takes the opportunity to knock the elixir out of his hand, satisfied by the way the glass shatters across the floor. 

He hopes Kade doesn’t step on it. 

Everything is moving too fast, spiraling too quickly. He has to leave, he  _ has _ to, but the idea of keeping her at the mercy of Mint Eye for any longer causes something like agony to take hold. 

Kade smiles reassuringly, and it makes him feel worse, somehow. 

He’ll get her out of there. No more sacrifices. 

-

The longer he’s with Rika - the dark to his light, the art of his soul - he finds himself thinking of his mother. 

Rika swears she’ll hurt him, harm him, destroy him as a test to prove his love. Prove his worth. Prove he’s not some empty shell of a man, a blank, colorless slate. 

His mother lost her hearing, lost her art, but what did she gain?

He ponders this more and more. If he lost his sight,  _ his _ art, what would be left of him? 

Will he finally discover who he is, finally?

The question loiters, especially since Rika’s been disappearing more and more. 

He finds it hard to let her go, to let her walk away on her solitary path. It’s somewhere he can’t follow, the apartment. 

She comes back colder, he finds. Her darkness is alive and bright after an evening alone. 

When he’s finally blinded, finally left bleeding from the eyes he crafted a career around, he’s devastated to find out that there is no clear answer waiting. 

She did it for love, surely, to test him, test his worth.  _ Surely, it was the only way. _

-

_ “No. No, no no. No- she- Rika, she- she can’t be-” _

Yoosung’s voice shakes, nearly laughing as he denies what V informed him of. A forged suicide, the death of his dearest cousin. It’s nightmarish, the one thing he would have never conjured in his darkest of nightmares. 

It’s to protect him, protect the boy from the horrors that Mint Eye would undoubtedly wreck on him. Because he would follow, go wherever Rika asked, without any hesitation. Blind faith that the woman would never do anything to cause him harm. 

V hopes that, one day, he will understand. 

He can’t say aloud what he’s thinking, what he’s desperate to say, so he thinks it instead. 

_ I’m sorry, Yoosung. I’m sorry, I lied to you. I’m sorry, this is all I can do to protect you. I’m sorry that you will hate me for this. I hate me, too.  _

V hugs him, ignoring the way he fights, pushing away from the taller man as his emotions take hold. The struggle is short, heart not in it, and eventually, Yoosung simply collapses against V’s chest. 

He cries for hours, broken. And all V can do is offer an apology. 

-

Kade’s name pops up on his phone, and the first thing V can think is  _ oh no something’s happened she’s not okay.  _

It was a moment of peace, a rare flash of solitude within the Mint Eye headquarters. V’s retreated to the garden, hiding, wondering if that was her, was Kade, wandering amongst the flowers with Saeran. 

V answers the call, forcing his voice to remain calm and steadfast. A rush of relief when hears that she is collected, if not slightly disconcerted, no doubt consumed with thoughts of the  _ salvation  _ she was promised. 

There is a light within the building, curtains ruffling by an open window on the 3rd floor. A figure shifts, moving briefly. A breeze rustles his robe, and the shadow’s hair just after. 

V bites the inside of his cheek, overcome with the urge to care for her, relax her. He looks up at the sky, wide, open. The stars are the best part of this location, undoubtedly, so clear and wide. He begins talking about them, a tangent he can’t totally control as he muses. 

He wonders if it’ll scare her away, the spontaneous desire to discuss life and space and everything in between. He knows he can be intense, can get too fixated on things that far too many would consider insignificant. 

She doesn’t hesitate to accept it, all of his little quirks, even humoring him with her own thoughts and opinions. 

He sees the woman in the window, light illuminating her from behind so that between his injured eyes and the distance, he can’t quite make out her features. But she’s leaning against the ledge looking at the sky, and he likes to think Kade is the one behind the shadow. 

-

He used to draw when he was a kid. When he was too young to know that it was wrong, too young to detect the disappointment in his father’s eyes when he comes home with a work that is far above his five years of age. 

Father enrolls him in an early education program, both a ruse to be free of the burden of his son and for the offspring to get a start at becoming exactly what is expected of him. 

But Jihyun is young, and so is Jumin, and although they are the same age Jihyun always had to work harder. He admires Jumin, how naturally gifted he is, how intelligent. Jihyun wonders if Father admires Jumin, too. 

There is a break in schoolwork, much to Jihyun’s relief, a lapse in the day. The teachers hastily lay out papers and crayons for the children to color with. It comes naturally, what he wants to draw - a landscape he glimpsed briefly out the window the other day. 

He grabs the color after color, seemingly on autopilot, hands moving on their own accord as he tries to quickly put his vision on paper. 

It’s surprisingly freeing, his inferiority fading away, the most relaxed he has been since this silly little program started. 

Jumin compliments him, and it feels nice. Like the time they sang in the church choir and Jihyun got a solo. 

The teacher is impressed, blown away as she holds up his work. Jihyun just smiles, too young to recognize contentment and too early in his life to really contemplate what it means. 

-

She’s sitting with her back turned to him, sipping a cup of tea at a small cafe - a low, blue ponytail the only distinguishing factor. 

Jihyun shuffles on his feet, wondering what the hell he’s doing here, why he’s even bothering. He’s more than aware of Jumin’s antics, his own opinions about  _ family _ made apparent from their conversation in the library.

It got to him, as he’s sure Jumin intended. Perhaps his blind loyalty to his father is misplaced, is too stubbornly ingrained into his thought patterns. And although his mind resolutely tells him to stick to familiarity, a deeper part of him can’t sleep with all of the conflict swirling beneath that voice. 

He should turn around, should leave, should go home and laugh about how utterly foolish this was-

Until she turns around, mint eyes widening and lips parting. He realizes, for the first time and with resounding clarity, how much they look alike. It feels like a foolish observation, now, after seventeen years. 

“H-hi,” Jihyun clears his throat, suddenly feeling stupid for the greeting. She can’t hear him, anyway. 

To his surprise, she goes to speak. The sound is underused, and he wonders how often she really tries to talk. All that comes out is a broken,  _ “Jihyun.” _

He laughs, nervous, unsure. Out of the safety net his father has so carefully made sure to raise him within. “You know what? I shouldn’t have come. Father would be livid if he found out, I’m just going to-” he starts to turn, to run, to retreat, but before he can a frail hand wraps around his wrist. 

_ “Jihyun.” _

She’s pleading, the one word absolutely aching. His mother is desperate for him to stay, to talk. Suddenly all of her watching, her monitoring throughout the years makes sense. She’s been waiting for him. 

Jumin was right, it seems. As if he isn’t always. 

He clears his throat, school uniform feeling remarkably restricting. 

“Hi, Mom.”

-

The drug is slow to leave his body. It gives his mind time to wonder, to get lost in the detox. 

He tries to focus on other things while he can, while he has the motivation to try. He doesn’t have to look far for something to catch his interest. 

Kade doesn’t offer anything personal in the chat room, few details of herself and her life. Even when prompted, her responses are vague, more focused on the other's and their plights. It isn’t until later that he wonders if she was given explicit instructions to do just that. 

The lack of social media is interesting, any online presence she may have maintained has been completely eradicated. He brings it to her attention, once, without wholly meaning to. 

Kade always makes him say things before he can think better of it. 

She hums offhandedly, pondering if  _ Ray _ had done so intentionally, concealed her existence from their prying eyes. 

So he takes the opportunity to ask, to learn. It’s draining, his only thoughts flitting between self-loathing and obsession and how  _ wrong _ all of this is. How he should have done better. 

The elixir is heavy in his mind when he looks at her, a glass of water in either hand as she returns from the kitchen. Kade offers a bright, dimpled smile when she sees he’s awake, setting what he assumes to be his own glass on the nightstand and taking a sip of hers. She perches on the side of the bed, one leg folded under her thigh and the other dangling off the bed. 

“I don’t know anything about you,” he comments, catching her off guard. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything.”  _ Everything. _

Kade appears thoughtful for a moment, biting her bottom lip as she thinks on what to offer. 

He learns her favorite color is yellow. She likes to go on walks in the morning, before the stillness of dawn is disrupted. Her grandmother taught her how to play piano when she was young, and although she’s never had formal lessons she still likes to dabble. She likes the way snow looks when it falls. She likes to turn on black and white movies in the evening. She loves spring, but winter is the best time to ice skate. She speaks fondly of her family, especially her mother. 

She talks about her writing, the degree she’s working toward and the novels she has partially unfinished on her computer. She tells him about the worlds she weaves and the characters she conjures. How writing gives her a chance to explore, to free her mind, to explore people and who they are and how they think. 

Kade’s excitement is palpable, and he finds himself smiling without meaning to as she delves into a part of her newest tale that has her stumped, swept up by her enthusiasm. He always thought she would be creative, but seeing how clear and unabashed she is with her process astonishes him. 

She really is breathtaking, he thinks, as she bites her bottom lip and thinks over her story. 

“I can’t wait to read it,” he says, and finds he means every word. 

She stops, surprised, and takes a moment to look at him. Her gaze is searching, but not unpleasant, and he finds that while he feels remarkably exposed he doesn’t mind if she is the one looking at him that way. 

Whatever Kade’s looking for she finds, her expression softening further. He sees something deeper than fondness pass through the look as she says, “Then you’ll be the first.”

It feels like a promise. 

-

Zen’s performance was remarkable. 

Rika had assured him it would be - that the boy’s talent was inspirational. 

And she was right. When he was on the stage it was nothing short of breathtaking. He encompassed the role to a level V had never before seen, soothing voice belting out music with a passion and desperation that makes him stand out from the rest of his cast. 

He’s just started, supposedly, but he’s levels beyond the rest of him. Anyone could see the man is going to go far. 

Later, after a devastating crash and a nearly life-altering event, V sits by a hospital bed, reading. 

Zen opens his mouth, then closes it, fiddling with the sterile blanket as he sneaks a glance from beneath long lashes. 

V debates showing him mercy, raising the book to keep the young man from seeing his smile, but he can’t deny the part of him that finds the hesitation amusing. 

Finally, Zen breathes heavily. “Why are you still here?”

Straight to the point, V notes, amused. He wonders if this is a one-time occurrence, or if the young man just generally lacks tact. He has a sneaking suspicion that lends itself towards the latter. 

V doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up from his book, eyes scanning the same sentence for the third time. “I can leave, if you’d prefer.”

“N-no. Sorry. That was rude. I’m just confused. I already agreed to join your group, you don’t have to keep hanging around, you know?”

V nods, encouraging, understanding. The kid is talented, objectively beautiful, but isolated. He gets a feeling the man is lonely, removed. 

No one else has visited - or at least there’s no proof. Even after a short conversation with his parents, only brief enough to get permission for surgery, V is inclined to believe they are not on the best of terms. 

“I don’t,” he agrees. He has no obligations to the actor. “But you’re a cherished member of the RFA. And we take care of our own.”

There’s something in Zen - in  _ Hyun’s  _ expression that is markedly vulnerable, as if the idea of a solid group to turn to is so mind-bogglingly out of his realm of experience. V understands the feeling all too well. 

“Besides,” V’s grin widens, “I thought you would be surprised if Luciel suddenly appeared without any buffer.”

Right on cue, the red-haired hurricane enters, wasting no time in grabbing Zen’s phone and making himself comfortable as he adds the newest member to the chatroom. Zen can merely gape at the boy, stuttering a protest and looking on with a winded expression as Luciel enthusiastically introduces himself. 

As the two banter, opposing personalities colliding, V doesn’t bother to hide his laughter.

-

_ Obsession.  _

Through the haze of the drug, the word echoes - a haunting, melodious sort of thing. The dungeon is cold, the floor hard, but his limbs won’t seem to cooperate enough to let him rise onto the adjacent bed. 

Words are scattered, flashing through his mind. He’s too far gone to connect them, to realize what it could mean. 

_ Love. Obsession.  _

He sees his mother for a moment, and it’s as if she’s reaching for him, eyes sad. It reminds him of when she was there, watching him get picked up from school. 

He wants to tell her it’s alright. And that he’s sorry. And something else he can’t quite think about right now. 

_ Rika. Mint eye. Obsession. Obsession.  _

He remembers following Rika home when she modeled for him - before they were together. He can’t remember why he did that, now. 

He knows worrying when she would leave - where she went, who she was talking to. That wasn’t healthy. 

He remembers projecting something onto her - something he thought was love but was too heavy, too damaging. 

He thinks she may have lashed out - her soft words and her cruel ones, her need to be embraced and her compulsion to reject his comfort. It was a whirlwind. He was tired of being on edge. 

He is, now, too. But he’ll suffer for her. 

_ Obsession. Love. RFA. Kade.  _

He hopes they’re safe. He hopes Saeyoung won’t find Saeran. He hopes Kade will make it out of there, won’t fall for Rika’s words. He hopes she keeps that steady strength, even if they can’t rescue him, too. 

He hopes he’ll get to see his family again. But it’s not his father’s face he sees through the fog. 

-

He doesn’t know of Saeran’s involvement until after Mint Eye is officially created. He doesn’t know just how far Rika has fallen until much later - brainwashing and  _ drugging  _ Seven’s brother into becoming a tool for her warped conquest. 

He doesn’t know the true extent of Mint Eye’s corruption, how twisted and archaic the methods are to save her disciples. The guise of a medicine used to brainwash those who question her sovereignty. 

The guilt is crushing as he thinks of the younger twin. And then of the older, of Luciel, placing blind faith in the only people who believed in him, in turn. 

How misplaced that was. He would curse V’s name if he knew, and it would be more than justified. 

V still has pictures on an old memory card, of Saeran immediately after his mother died. How free, how happy he was on the few occasions V managed to get time alone with him. Before they were separated, before he stopped wondering why communication was banned. Before his attempts to see the boy were shut down by a silver tongue and empty assurances.

V wonders about Saeran constantly. Wonders about the sweet boy, the young boy, the one who lived a life of shadows but craved the embrace of the light. 

He hopes he still likes flowers, can still enjoy nature. The kid has spent way too much of his life shut indoors. 

V promised to teach him how to use a camera. It hurts when he thinks he may never get that chance. 

-

His mother’s funeral is a quiet affair. 

Jihyun is surprised to see his father is even in attendance, stone-cold and simply going through the motions. His final obligation to the woman he despised. 

Jumin is there, checking on his friend - sturdy, consistent, just as he always has been throughout their life. Jihyun isn’t sure he could ever properly convey the amount of gratitude he feels towards the man. 

Afterward, when the priest finishes his words of rest, Jihyun approaches, placing a single rose against her coffin as a final offering. He’s the only one to do so. He can feel his father’s gaze heavy on his neck. 

As an afterthought, he pulls out the painting she submitted to that contest, months back. He found the remains with her diary, shredded from where he ruined them in his panic. 

It’s creased from his pocket, abused from being folded throughout the entire service. 

He wanted to paint something for her, something final, a good-bye. But his hand wouldn’t cooperate, and neither would his mind, the vision usually coming to him with striking clarity remarkably blank. 

He feels empty, desolate.

They lower the casket - rose and paint on polished wood. 

One month later, Jihyun is meeting his future step-mother. 

-

Falling in love with Kade is easy, he finds. Too easy. Frighteningly easy. 

He doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust the spiraling mass of emotion she can reduce him to without even knowing. It’s an internal battle, and one he is rapidly losing. 

She has a way about her that draws people in. He can’t pretend her laugh doesn’t give him butterflies and the desire to kiss her through her smile doesn’t consume him every single time he glimpses those dimples. 

He’s thought about it, on more than one occasion, now that the drug has left his system. He feels more himself than he has in years, and he has a feeling she may have more than a bit of a hand in that revelation. 

Kade has barely left his side, but she’s outside right now, getting some fresh air after so much time spent caring for him. She’s more than earned it.

V wishes his body would cooperate, wishes he could bring himself to follow her on her short walk. But moving is hard, he’s still too lethargic to do more than make it to Luciel’s car and back before he has to sit down. 

Her name illuminates his phone. He takes the call, second nature at this point. She’s describing what she sees, all the birds and the animals and the light peeking through the trees. It feels like he’s there, with her, seeing it all. No doubt her intention - she could feel his disappointment when Luciel’s fellow agent-turned-maid mentioned it’d be better for him to stay behind. 

It’s no wonder she’s a writer. Even over the phone, although they are no more than a few yards away, he can practically feel the world turning around her. 

For a moment, he wonders what it would be like to paint what she describes. Maybe she’ll let him, if he asks. If he’s brave enough to. 

It feels something like the calm before the storm, as if they have only made it to a clearing in the forest but have not yet breached the woods. 

-

His mother is utterly enthralled with the museum, he realizes, as they wander through the halls. 

She stares at every painting, giving them all individual and ample attention. He finds himself wondering what she’s looking for, what answers she’s searching for within the various paints, the many portraits

She turns to him after every one, asking his opinion. And he’s honest, real, telling her what he likes and what he would change. 

Jihyun didn’t even know he had opinions on the matter until she prompted, but apparently he does - strong ones that make him wonder, silently  _ if they can do it, why can’t I? _

And with every answer, his mother brightens, joyous as they wander through the halls. He thinks she may miss some of his words, some of his thoughts, yet it doesn’t matter. She seems content enough that he’s enjoying himself, regardless. 

Jihyun goes home that night and digs through a storage bin, equal parts delighted and guilty when he finds some old acrylics and an empty canvas. 

-

_ “V, you fell for her.” _

He’d thought she would be hysterical - the shrieking mess she was when they broke out of Magenta, a vivid memory even through the haze of drugs. 

And although her voice edges on accusatory, Rika seems to be confident in her knowledge of his wayward feelings. It’s the calm before the inevitable storm, as it often is with her, as the peace before the chaos begins to stir. 

He knew it, sensed it for days. All leading up to a final confrontation. 

Flowing pink hair, dimples that form when she’s smiling or laughing or thinking, silver eyes that catch the light and always seem to sparkle. She doesn’t fall in the dark, or the light, but rather chooses to see the world for its many, many hues. To see the beauty that dwells within the shades. 

Kade is alive in every sense of the word, colorful, like the paintings he’s only dreamed of creating. Like the painting he attempted to force on Rika through some twisted form of devotion. 

And so very unlike himself - blank white puzzles put together in his spare time, without a care or thought. 

It was gradual over the first few days, when his thoughts of Rika slowly turned to Kade’s safety. She became an integral part of the story, a factor that changed everything about his relationship with Mint Eye. 

V can’t hide it from Rika and, more importantly, he doesn’t want to. In her open, transparent green eyes, V can see the heartbreak splintering through with his decaying vision. And yet, still, he will not be apologetic for loving the exceptional woman who gave so much of her heart to him when he needed it most. 

He  _ won’t.  _ So he says nothing at all. Even when the dam breaks and Rika rushes forward, shaking him and yelling about love and obsession and wherever they settled between the two, V refuses to say any more. 

It’s a patchwork attempt to protect Kade, knowing all too well the horrors Rika is capable of when she’s like this - out of her mind in the most toxic way. 

He can all too easily see her going after Kade, desperate to get through to the man she could once manipulate like a well-worn doll. He hopes that doesn’t happen, that Rika’s reluctant fondness for the girl will keep her safe. That the more stable side of Rika will talk herself down. 

So he’ll take responsibility, as he has always been trying to do, as is his duty. He is partially responsible for the woman in front of him, after all, and the decimation of so many lives in her feeble attempts to save them. 

For now, at least, everyone will be safe. 

Rika stabs him. It’s an objective fact, one he processes as if it happens to someone else. And as he crumples to the ground, Rika’s screams a distant crescendo, the only thing V can think is  _ Kade’s safe oh thank God she won’t hurt her. _

V blinks, or maybe waits, and then he can hear Saeyoung - no, wait, that’s wrong, he’s Luciel, he’s  _ Seven _ \- instructing the assistant to do something with the car. V doesn’t much care for Vanderwood, the messages in the chat room with Kade were far too friendly and he spends too much time watching her…

All he can see through the haze is Kade - grey eyes bright and tearful. She eclipses the moon like a sun, the only light in his vision. It’s beautiful. He hates watching her cry. 

“You’re okay,” he says, a hand he thinks may be his own is cupping her jaw weakly. 

Kade nods frantically, grasping his hand in her own and pressing it further into her soft skin. It really is soft… he could just hold her forever…

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Please, V, look at me. Right at me.”

How silly. She says it desperately, and he wants to ask why. All he’s done is look at her since he met her. It still doesn’t feel like enough. He could look at her forever. 

He tells her that, and she smiles, an exasperated kind of laugh. “Good. Good, keep looking at me. Don’t close your eyes, please.”

“Never. You’re beautiful.”

-

_ Clasped hands. Shadows across skin, lace curtains painting her thighs in their intricate designs. Hair fanning out across pale sheets like a halo in the afternoon sun. _

_ The burning light of an alarm clock stares accusatively at them from a stand. It's too late, it says. Too late in the day for hushed whispers and healthy moans.  _

_ Kade’s voice is a song forever stuck playing in his head. Light, lilting, the best sort of sound. Labored breaths tickle her ear. She laughs, that same bell-like timbre he adores, uncomplicatedly intoxicated from their joining. He swallows it, greedily, with lips. _

_ Tense, his shoulders, waiting for a biting comment. A reprimand as he moves inside her, part of him still shamelessly desperate for approval.  _ **_“How spoiled,” a ghost of a voice sings, “you don't deserve to touch me.”_ **

_ It never comes, any words or pain or regret - just love and happiness and the sound of breathless panting - and he almost starts to believe he's worthy of her sunflower smile. _

_ He's a desert of a man and she's an oasis - a haunting illusion of a genuine paradise in a barren landscape. Except he approaches the dream and it doesn't shatter, doesn't become an empty crater.  _

_ Her fingertips tell a story on his pale skin, illustrating an absent design as they bask in the afterglow. He wants to tattoo them on his heart, cover up the scars with the artistry of her love.  _

_ He pulls her in - closer, closer, closer. A strong arm around a small frame and a grateful sigh he hopes she can translate to what it means. _

_ “I love you,” he wants to scream but it comes out like a broken whisper. Delicate fingers card through teal strands, an intimate comfort he’s longed for.  _

_ “I love you,” she rises from her spot cradled against his side, setting her forehead on his and smiling brighter than he could ever have dreamed. He kisses her through the smile, heart fluttering, and relishing in the feeling of being whole for the first time in his life.  _

He wakes up, sweating and guilty and still smelling of chemicals. He doesn’t deserve to think of her like this, fantasizing about what could be if he was just a little stronger. 

He doesn’t deserve her love.  _ He doesn’t want to ruin her, too.  _

-

Jihyun would never admit it, not even to himself on the best of days, but a very large part of him is still afraid of fire. 

He tries to attend a small graduation bonfire for a classmate, a sincere invitation from a peer he has known since his youth. It took far too much convincing, but he’s been avoiding and hiding for too long. 

Half of their graduating class is in attendance, already eating food and playing games and making idle conversation with friends they will hardly see after today. A girl waves at Jihyun, cheeks pink, and he waves back, polite, as he tries to recall her name. 

Jihyun makes it approximately three steps into the vast backyard before panic strikes. The smell of smoke makes him flinch, the twisting flames conjuring up memories he has spent weeks  _ desperate _ to repress. The yard, the familiar faces, slowly morphing into his home, his room, his mother’s face fading in the flames...

There is a hand on his arm, a low apology, and then he’s being pulled somewhere. He doesn’t know where, he doesn’t  _ care _ where, he just knows his mother is  _ in there _ and no one is  _ helping her  _ why will  _ no one go inside she’s going to die she’s going to- _

And then he sees Jumin, dark eyes full of concern. V is grasping his biceps desperately, grounding himself, fingers white and undoubtedly going to leave bruises. He thinks he should apologize, reprimands himself for letting the control fall so far. 

A few deep breaths and he’s back, almost. The air feels acutely sharp and clear, void of any of the musk of smoke. He’s suddenly aware of how desperately his hands are shaking. 

Jumin is eyeing him with concern, so he forces a smile, apologizing.  _ (Deflecting.) _ It works, or his friend simply lets it be, and just absently informs him that a car will be there to pick them up momentarily. 

There’s a large burn mark on his lower back where a beam struck, forcing him to the ground and trapping him for far too long within the inferno. Absently, Jihyun rubs the mark, wondering if he’ll have to carry this guilt for just as long as he will bear the remains of scorched skin. 

-

_ Being  _ in love with her is easy, too, he finds. Effortlessly easy. Breathtakingly easy. 

She wears her heart on her sleeve, and everything that comes along with it - all of her fear, her doubt, none of it masked. Even when her pragmatic side takes hold, as she assesses a situation or a member and their issues, he can practically see the thoughts swirling in her mind. 

And as such V can see the disappointment in her eyes, the sadness coating them when he mentions his need to leave, to take time and figure out who he is and what he wants. 

And deeper than that, he can see her understanding. Her empathy. It makes his head spin, how much faith she’s offered him since joining their group, a mere twelve days ago. 

Twelve days. Not even for two weeks. It feels like he’s known her a lifetime. Maybe there is something to soulmate theory, after all. 

He kisses her before he goes, an impulsive decision but one he could hardly imagine  _ not _ following through. 

Her lips are warm against his own, her hands resting on his chest as his own cradle her face, gently. He goes to pull away, to stop, keep it chaste and soft. But eyes are still closed, breath still heavy between them, and for the first time in a while, V just thinks  _ to hell with it  _ before kissing her again. 

It’s intimate, open-mouthed, completely unabashed as whatever’s been blossoming between them finally reaches a crescendo. V’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her  _ closer closer closer  _ against his torso. His lips move against her own, saying all the things he’s desperately wanted to tell her for the past week but hasn’t been brave enough to. 

Kade’s raises onto her tiptoes, hand moving from his chest to the back of his neck, keeping him firmly in place against her. As if he would ever leave. He could kiss her forever and still not be content. 

It’s a sensation he’s never felt, never experienced. He has to lean down a bit too far, she’s small, short, and he finds it silly he never noticed the height difference until now.

V is grateful for the surgery, for the clarity with which he can see her rosy cheeks, her kiss-swollen lips, the way her eyes flicker between his own. Absently, carefully, V tucks a rosy strand of hair behind her ear. 

He leans his forehead against hers, “Wait for me.” 

Selfish, he knows, and far too much to ask of her. He isn’t sure how long he’ll be gone, how many months will pass them by before their reunion. 

“Forever,” she promises.

He kisses her again, this time with a note of good-bye, grateful that when all is said and done, he has a home to return to.

-

He wants to see her. 

Saeran is staring out the window, eyes foggy as he focuses intently on something in the mountains. He’s taken to watching the wildlife, lately. There is a young deer that seems fond of their cabin’s yard. Saeran’s named it Moose, no doubt for the irony. 

V sketches absentmindedly, trying not to think too hard on how the form resembles Kade, or how long hair falls similarly. Just a simple coincidence, surely.   


His fingers itch for a moment, not to paint as they have been lately (he takes this as a good sign, a healing sign) but to pick up his neglected phone and book a flight. 

Again. 

V - no, _ Jihyun _ , he wants to go by  _ Jihyun _ now, no more hiding - indulges in the impulse, taking note of how low the charge is on the device and the many missed calls he has from his friends. He simply opens up a browser window, taking in the different flights and prices and how quickly he would be able to return to her.

“You’re just going to cancel it, anyways,” Saeran says, never looking away from the window. There’s no cruelty in his voice, not like there once was. Just a simple observation. Moose looks up as the wind shifts, trees ruffling. 

The stack of canceled tickets is now a centerpiece on the coffee table. 

“Probably,” he concedes, amicable. The younger Choi brother isn’t ready yet. Not quite.  _ Almost. _

Jihyun gets up from the couch, closing the sketchpad and leaving it on the two-person table. He’s expecting a letter, it’s been long enough since their last correspondence and Kade is nothing if not punctual. 

The mail is full, more so than it has been since getting to Alaska. An orange envelope takes up every free inch of space, crammed into the small slot with what could only be described as determination. 

To his surprise, there’s no letter, no update on how she’s doing and what is happening in her life at the moment. Instead, there is a post-it note pressed to the front, her messy handwriting (he imagines she was too excited to focus on the print) reading:

_ I promised you would be the first to read it.  _

_ All my love, Kade _

He finds himself laughing, heart twisting from the gesture. Pride swells as he scans the manuscript, the title followed with ‘ _ by Kadence Roe’ _ in the subheading. He wonders if Jumin helped her get published, or if she did it on her own. 

Maybe he made the initial contact, gave her a name. But Jihyun has no doubt she charmed the daylights out of everyone in that first meeting, doing more than her share and earning her keep. 

Jihyun walks back to the living room, preoccupied with his new token Saeran looks away from the window long enough to eye Jihyun curiously. It looks like he was toying with the camera. Maybe Jihyun should finally give him those lessons he promised, years ago. 

The next party is in two weeks. Two weeks to finish what needs to be done, to conclude his business. And then they can go home. 

_ Just a little longer,  _ he promises, flipping to the first page of her book and quickly getting lost to the world of her own creation. 


End file.
